


Ideal Uncle

by Honeybeebatch



Series: Ideally [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Baby Maeve, Babysitting, Child Abandonment, Dysfunctional Family, M/M, No Incest, POV Mycroft Holmes, Protective Mycroft, Uncle Mycroft, Uncle-Niece Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeybeebatch/pseuds/Honeybeebatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft’s life is in complete disarray when he discovers that his brother has fathered a child in a one night stand and she has been abandoned on the doorstep of 221B. He only wants to protect his brother as he always has, and as extension protect his daughter. He is not surprised to see his brother step up and become a father, accepting the challenge like he was born to do it.<br/>Mycroft will do anything to protect his new family. </p><p>This is a spin-off from ‘Ideal Father’ that features Mycroft Holmes as an uncle to baby Maeve, the chapters are going to follow Mycroft as he learns to be an uncle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a spin-off from my fic 'Ideal Father', so it's crucial that you read that to understand this in my opinion - that being said you could try without it but this first chapter will refer in detail to the events happening in the first couple of chapters in 'Ideal Father'.
> 
> Those of you that have read 'Ideal Father' this is a work dedicated purely to Mycroft and his various experiences as he learns to become the ideal uncle for his niece, baby Maeve Holmes. There will be a chapter coming up that details the first sleep over/the night Sherlock spent in hospital after being attacked, and you will meet Lestrades kids! I do hope you enjoy!

The moment Mycroft Holmes found out about the baby abandoned on his brother’s doorstep, he was at work, reading through a pile of files that needed to be sorted before the morning.

It was dark out and the light on his desk illuminated the room in a soft yellow glow as he flicked through each file one by one, taking great care with each written word and when finished, placing them in the relevant out tray to be collected and filed correctly when he left the office. He had one long leg crossed elegantly over the other, careful not to crease his dark suit trousers and his arms resting on the padded mahogany leather arms of the chair.

The door of his office had been left ajar, and light peeked through the gap streaming more light into the otherwise dark office.

The moment, he would always remember, he knew that something was wrong, came with the distinctive silence from outside his office. There was no tapping of computer or phone keys, no opening or shutting of draws, only silence.

The auburn haired man looked up at the gap in the door expectantly and was rewarded with the gentle tap of heels and Anthea’s body blocking the light streaming through the door for a moment, then a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” Mycroft announced. 

The door pushed open with a inaudible creek and his assistant walked in, cautious to shut the door behind her, she waited for the soft click before turning and making her way over to the desk. She had her phone in hand and an iPad, video then, Mycroft observed.

“We’ve recovered CCTV images from outside your brothers flat,” she informed him, handing over the iPad.

He lent forward and took it from her, the image on the screen was of a woman, and it was undoubtedly a woman wearing an oversized sweatshirt and coat. Her face was blocked off from view but there was something in her arms, a large bundle. She stopped outside the flat, looking up at the door and waited for someone to pass before she knelt down and placed the bundle on the top step. She pulled an envelope from her pocket and manoeuvred it under bundle before pressing the doorbell and knocking firmly on the door once, and walking away.

“Who is she?” Mycroft asked, looking up at his assistant.

“We don’t know Sir, there are no clear views of her face,” she spoke, “she got into a cab at the end of the street, pre-paid, you might want to keep watching.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and focused back on the screen.

The door to 221B opened to reveal his brother, still wearing his suit from earlier but now with his wine coloured dressing gown over the top, undone.  A gush of wind hit him, billowing his dressing gown and brushing his dark curls backwards. His younger brother peered outside, eyes scanning over the isolated street and then up to the sky for a brief second. He stepped back completely unaware of the bundle by his feet, about to go back inside and slam the door shut.

Mycroft frowned at the screen.

His brother stopped, confused and reopened the door to look back outside. His brow was furrowed as he looked down at the ground.

He blinked in disbelief and knelt down, pushing his dressing gown out from behind him dramatically. It was a move that he has seen more often or not at crime scenes when he wanted to avoid getting his coat dirty. He focused completely on the bundle, obviously observing every single detail.

Mycroft’s frown deepened as he watched his brother hesitantly reach out and pick up the bundle, showing great care in his actions. He placed the bundle, or as he should properly refer now he could make out what it was, the baby on his chest, and supported the infant with one arm. With the other he picked up the envelope, turned around and kicked the door shut behind him.

“A baby?” Mycroft said in disbelief, placing the tablet on his desk and leaning back in his chair. Somebody had a left on his brother’s doorstep, his mind was reeling with the new information and he needed information.

“We have no ID on either the baby or the woman responsible for abandoning it.”

“She left it on my brother’s doorstep, we can assume that there is a connection.” He told her.

Anthea nodded, “we are attempting to trace back his…liaisons, but he has a talent for avoiding our surveillance and is irregular in that department. No lovers or partners to speak of, the occasional one night stand but he seems to abstain from that particular activity.”

Mycroft nodded, “can we access the cameras in Baker Street?”

Anthea nodded. 

“When did this happen?” He asked.

“The images from outside happened not two minutes ago,” she updated him, “and the stream from the house is live.”

The image on the tablet switched to the live feed in his brothers living room, Sherlock stepped into the empty room and reached into his trouser pocket for his phone. He dialled and placed the phone at his ear.

“ _John I need you to come home…”_ there was no way to hear what the doctor was saying but Mycroft could summarise from what his brother was saying, “ _But I’m calling, I didn’t text…Yes…”_

His brother pouted, “ _Otherwise I wouldn’t be calling.”_

Mycroft watched his brother glance at the child in his arms, awake but eyes drooping in an attempt to fight off sleep. “ _I found a baby on the doorstep…yes a baby. A child that has recently been born, the product of reproducing.”_

His brother was silent for a moment, listening to the reply and then snapped, “She can’t talk John and I’m not a mind reader. She was abandoned, obviously and there’s a note but I can’t open it with just one hand.”

Mycroft frowned. Sherlock had just lied, a very bad lie, he was usually a master a deception but his lie this lie was weak at best. He was panicking internally.

 _“Good,”_ Sherlock said simply and threw his phone in the direction of the sofa. He looked down at the baby again, now close to sleep and observed her, stormy eyes focusing on her.

Now that they were inside Mycroft could see the infant clearly, she was small, barely a week old with dark hair.

Sherlock froze and glimpsed over to the letter he had placed on the table.

“He’s just figured something out,” Anthea observed. She was used to seeing Mycroft with similar expressions when he pieced something together to form an unavoidable answer.

Mycroft looked up at his assistant, “he has just figured out that the baby is his.”

Sherlock on the screen looked back down at the baby and exhaled, “ _Well, this is definitely a bit not good.”_

 

 

 

“What do we do?” Anthea asked. She was out of her depth now.

Mycroft had been silent for far too long.

“Call Gregory, update him on the situation and get a driver to take him to the hospital.”

“The hospital?” She asked, unsure.

“She’s barely a few days old and has been left on a doorstep, they will want her to be checked over by a trained professional.”

On the screen Sherlock was sat on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other and the baby cradled in his arms, fast asleep and snoring gently against his chest.

John walked in and stopped at the sight of it.

Anthea nodded and followed her boss’ instructions leaving Mycroft alone in his office with the image of Doctor Watson sitting down on the coffee table opposite his brother, as he explained that he may have done something not entirely smart. Mycroft watched his brother, he looked so young and slightly scared with the tiny baby sleeping in his arms.

 

 

 

“ _You tosser!”_

Mycroft took the phone away from his ear for a moment and sighed. Gregory was not happy with him then.

 _“You had your assistant call and tell me that a baby was abandoned outside your brothers flat,”_ His partner continued, voice low to avoid drawing attention to himself as he spoke, “ _a baby that is apparently from the loins of one Sherlock Holmes.”_

“Gregory, please.” Mycroft sounded disgusted at the image. Anthea glanced up from her phone and smirked at him before returning her gaze to the screen as he continued, “there is no need to be crass.”

 _“He will not appreciate my presence,”_ Greg promised him.

“But he needs somebody there,” Mycroft argued.

“ _You should be there.”_

“He wants me there less than you,” the auburn haired man scoffed.

“ _That’s bullshit and you know it Myc.”_

“Be that as it may, he will not want me there.”

“ _You need to be here.”_ Greg told him, no room for argument.

“I am on route,” He responded with a long sigh.

 _“What do you want me to do?”_ Greg asked, admitting defeat.

“Just go and be with him, lie if you must, no doubt he’ll see right through it,” he answered, “find out what you can and I’ll meet you in thirty minutes at the closest entrance.”

“ _Ok Myc.”_

Greg met him at the hospital entrance, he was stood against the wall wearing his usual black work suit with a white shirt and long coat. He managed a small smile at the sight of his partner and led the auburn haired man through the hospital, Anthea a few steps behind.

“What do we know?” Mycroft asked.

Greg nodded and answered, “She was born two days ago on the 2nd of May, and the mother was discharged this morning.”

“What do we know about the mother?”

“Celine Howards, according to the doctor she came in two days ago with contractions and was treated by one of his colleagues.” Greg told him, “She was born in the evening and kept in for observations.”

Mycroft stopped walked and stared at his partner, stunned.

Greg stopped and looked back at him, confused by the sudden stop.

“She?” Mycroft repeated, unsure.

Greg’s eyes widened, Mycroft was unsure of something and nodded once in answer. “She hasn’t been named yet but the DNA test proves that she is Sherlock’s…congratulations, you’re an uncle.”

Mycroft stared for a moment before nodding curtly, he glanced at Anthea and instructed, “I want everything you can find on Celine Howards and all hospital records, any sighting of her leaving the hospital and I want to know where she went. Also, prepare something for Sherlock and have it sent to Baker Street so he is prepared to take her home.”

Anthea nodded and turned around, walking back down the way that they had just came.

“You think that he’s going to take her home?” Greg asked.

“I’m sure of it,” Mycroft told him. “Is there anything else?”

Greg nodded, “she was kept in for observations after a tricky birth. Apparently it’s an extremely rare birth that came with a high percentage of cord prolapse that could, as I understand it, lead to a lack of oxygen to the baby. Everything was fine but they wanted to check her breathing.”

Mycroft nodded in understanding. He was not an expert in babies or labour, but he had come across the term ‘kneeling breech’ in a book before, when his mother was pregnant with Sherlock, and understood the basics.

“And how is he?”

Greg shrugged and rubbed a hand over his cheek, “He’s good with her, she started crying and he picked her right up out of the cot, settled her down.”

“Shall we?”

 

 

 

Mycroft walked behind Greg as he rubbed a hand through his hair, stepping into the hospital room and moving aside for his partner. His eyes scanned over the scene with astonishment and vague disappointment, he had never liked the sight of his brother in hospital rooms. He curled his hand around the wooden handle of his umbrella and spoke, “Sherlock.”

His eyes fixed onto his younger brother, sat on the hospital bed with a sleeping baby curled protectively in his arms, he watched as his arms tightened at the sound of his voice. It was a slight movement, unconscious on his brothers part, but still noticeable to his keen eyes. The involuntary gesture of a protective parent.

“Piss off” Sherlock responded, his tone strong but it lacked its usual bite.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Greg who seemed fazed but a little used to the action already. “Really Sherlock?” He asked, purposely taunting his younger brother.

The consulting detective tensed visibly. “It’s none of your business Mycroft.”

“He always was like this with new toys” he told the other spectators, Greg and John, before returning his full attention to his younger brother. “I just came to visit my niece.”

“She is not a toy” Sherlock spat, volume raising. The baby in his brother’s arms released a soft moan but remained asleep, a warning to them all that anymore would wake her. The curly haired man’s attentions then fixed on his daughter, her sleeping figure.

Mycroft could see now that the baby had a sparse amount of dark hair, short but curling at the ends, something that he couldn’t see on the CCTV due to the hat she had been wearing.

“Come now.” Mycroft scolded, playing mother, again in an attempt to rile his brother further.

“Can you not go a minute without sticking your big nose in business that does not concern you?” Sherlock asked, raising both eyebrows and genuinely expecting an answer.

“Please boys.” John spoke calmly, eyes going to the baby in his best friends arms with a hint of concern.

“It is my concern” Mycroft said after a moment as he stepped closer, craning slightly to view the baby tucked in his brothers arms. “She is my niece after all.”

“And my daughter” Sherlock argued, shocking the others into silence.

 _Interesting_ , Mycroft thought, it almost seemed natural from his brother’s lips.

“Yes, she is.” Mycroft agreed with a firm twitch of the lips. Sherlock rolled his eyes and Mycroft continued. “There are matters to be discussed.”

“Now?” John asked.

“Now would be better” Greg answered for Mycroft.

 “What are your intentions?” Mycroft asked, eyes fixed on the younger Holmes and his even younger daughter. Sherlock grunted in reply, not dignifying him with an answer. Mycroft sighed but continued, these matters were very time delicate. “Sherlock, I know this is a very big decision for you but you have to decide. Either she stays with you or Mummy and Father can look after her.”

He knew the relationship between Sherlock and his parents were strained, they were exactly the motivation he needed to get Sherlock to answer his unasked questions.

Sherlock’s head shot up at this, his eyes cold. He hissed. “They can’t have her.

“They would be thrilled, a grandchild at last.” Mycroft told them, glancing at John, the only one who hadn’t yet met his parents. “Of course, they wouldn’t let her end up in care, we Holmeses stick together, they would be quite content raising her. Thrilled really.”

“No” Sherlock snapped. Mycroft’s brow furrowed and all attention was on him, once again.

Mycroft could see the anger bubbling up but somehow his brother managed to keep his temper, something to do with the baby in his arms he was sure. He was suppressing his anger for the good of his daughter, good, this was going better than anticipated.

“No?” Greg repeated, unsure.

“No” Sherlock confirmed. “They cannot have her, she is mine.”

“There is a lot to think about here” Greg told him calmly. “A baby will completely disrupt your life.”

“I’ll manage” The consulting detective shot back, pushing himself from the bed and onto his feet all the while, keeping a firm hold on his sleeping daughter, she jerked slightly at the movement but remained asleep.

“We’ll manage” John corrected, reaching for the baby bag one of the nurses had prepared for them while Sherlock fastened his coat, one handed. Sherlock’s eyes darted to John for a moment, softening before continuing his task.

“Sherlock” Mycroft stepped closer to his brother, to stop him from hurrying away and spoke sincerely. “I will support you in whatever decision you make but you need to think about this, a baby. You didn’t even know about her, she isn’t the child of loving parents but the results of a tryst in an alleyway. She is two days old, with no name or home, and you are hardly the fatherly type.”

He had never meant anything more – the good and the hurtful, he would always support his brother.

Sherlock’s eyes widened at his brother words, shocking but true. He glanced at Greg who tried to hide it but was obviously thinking the same as Mycroft, then John who just smiled. A supportive friendly smile.

“My daughter’s name is Maeve” Sherlock announced before sweeping out of the room.

John muttered a quick goodbye and ducked out of the room, following the taller man.

Greg stared at Mycroft.  “How did you do that?”

Mycroft feigned confusion and shrugged.

“That, you just did it!” Greg gestured to where Sherlock had been sat, “You convinced him that he would be the best option for her, you pushed all of his buttons.”

“He’s my brother,” Mycroft gave in explanation.

“And you know exactly how to make him do what you want.” Greg surmised.

Mycroft nodded and explained, flicking his umbrella up and inspecting the tip for any damages. “There are only a few ways to get through to Sherlock; you trick him into it which is becoming increasingly difficult, make him interested or …”

Greg narrowed his eyes in thought. Mycroft stared at him expectantly and the grey haired man looked up at him in realisation, “reverse psychology.”

“Make him want something by pretending that you do,” he clarified.

“You knew that threatening to take her away would make him realise that he wanted her,” Greg shook his head in disbelief, “you had no intention of letting your parents take custody.”

“My parents had their chance,” Mycroft told him with a small frown, “I would have taken her if he wouldn’t.”

“You would?” Greg asked, surprised.

They had been together for little over a year now and although Mycroft was great with kids, he didn’t come across as the parental type.

“I meant what I said Gregory,” Mycroft told him, fixing his partner with a stern look, “we Holmeses stick together.”


	2. Three Days Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock storms away from a crime scene after a run in with Anderson and Donovan, Mycroft is watching like a good (if not slightly creepy) big brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry but this is a very short chapter, a little snippet before the next chapter - a longer chapter about what happens after Sherlock is admitted to hospital and Mycroft has to look after Maeve for her first sleepover.

Mycroft watched as his brother stormed away from the crime scene, more specifically Sally Donovan and Phillip Anderson, and walked in no particular direction until he reached a small café. The CCTV images were clear and from the camera across the street he had a good view of Sherlock sat at the table, watching Maeve in her pram as a barista approached and they conversed for a few seconds.

His brother lent forwards, reached into the pram but didn’t pick Maeve up yet. The image was not detailed enough for him to see Maeve in the pram or what his brother was doing, but he could deduce that he was attempting to wake the sleeping babe. He talked to her and then, his eyes widened in surprise at the baby but he kept on with his ministrations, running his finger over her small face.

The barista returned with a coffee, placing it on the table and taking a step back with a smile. They talked again for a short period of time and Sherlock produced the ingredients for Maeve’s lunch, he made the mild with efficiency, shook the bottle and handed it to the woman. She took it, ducked away and Sherlock’s attention was once again on his daughter.  

Mycroft watched as his brother took out his phone and snapped a picture of his daughter, paying no attention to the return of the barista. She left the bottle on the table and returned to work.

“Involved,” Mycroft murmured to himself, more thinking out loud than anything.

Anthea looked up at him with a wary smile, “Sir?”

Mycroft shook his head, refusing to take his attention away from the live feed, “nothing.”

“Is he ok?” She asked.

“Fine,” he informed her gently as though his voice would alert Sherlock to his observations and wake the obviously, very tired baby Maeve.

He watched as Sherlock reached into the pram, he lifted her out and held her still for a moment in an attempt to get her to focus on his face a little better. That’s when she reached out, dragging her hand up and hitting him on the nose. He expected anger or in the very least annoyance from his brother, instead he radiated amusement with a huffed laugh. There was no way that the movement would have hurt him but his brother had a short temper, not it turned out in relation to his offspring.

He said something to the infant, Mycroft leaned in slightly and read his brothers lips.

_You are so loveable._

Sherlock drew her closer to his body, resting against his chest and breathing against his neck as tiny hands moved over his chest in inquisitive and shaky movements. He said something else and moved her into the appropriate position to feed her.

His brother no longer seemed affected by what had occurred at the crime scene.

The vibration of his phone on the desk snapped Mycroft’s attention back to his office, he picked up the phone and placed it to his ear after exactly three rings.

“John.” He greeted.

“ _Mycroft_.” The doctor spoke quickly, obviously very worried, “ _Do you happen to know where Sherlock is?”_

“He’s fine John.”

He said no more.

“ _That doesn’t answer my question.”_

Mycroft glanced at the screen for a moment, Sherlock was feeding Maeve with great care, pausing to make sure she wasn’t drinking to fast and dabbing the trails of milk down her chin. He sighed, “He stopped off at a small café.”

“ _He just stormed off, I didn’t get the chance…”_ John started frantically.

Mycroft interrupted, his voice completely calm as per usual. “He needed to blow off some steam, the walk helped with that and now he’s enjoying the company of his daughter. He’ll be back shortly.”

“ _Thank you.”_ John’s voice was full of sincerity and relief.

“Its fine, John.” He informed the younger man before hanging up and placing the phone back on his desk, in its appropriate place beside his laptop.

 

 

 

He watched his brother manoeuvre the pram up the stairs and through the doorway. He stopped the feed and placed the tablet at the side of his desk. Anthea picked it up and placed it underneath her arm as she looked down at her boss.

“The nursery is finished and the deliveries from Mothercare arrived earlier,” she informed him.

Mycroft nodded and looked down at the files on his desk.

“Back to work then,” he said simply.

Anthea nodded and left the room.


	3. Twenty-Five Days Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night that Sherlock was stabbed and forced to stay overnight in hospital; Mycroft took care of Maeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this makes up for the super short chapter last time! Sorry if it took longer than expected but I am only one person, with a hella lot of work to do but I will be updating this fic within the next fortnight, if not sonner!

_He had almost died. His brother had almost died, again._

Mycroft managed to keep his usual expression of indifference in place as he bounced his niece up and down with the purpose of keeping her calm, she was in the throes of waking and, it was likely, she would descend once again into a fit of distress. The hallways were bright and staff were rushing around; his parents and John were in the private room that he had made sure his brother was occupying while he remained with Maeve and Anthea. Greg had gone to get tea and coffee with Sally and Anderson.

Anthea turned the corner and approached, she had a dark brown leather duffle bag flung over one shoulder that bounced against her hip with each step she took. The phone that she was so often in the company of, was in her coat pocket which her hands were tucked into. Her eyes were fixed on the taller man and baby as she approached. She stopped a few steps away and craned her neck to get a better look at the infant attached to the front of her boss, “Sir.”

“Sherlock wants to see her,” he informed her.

“Is she…ok?”

Mycroft gave a curt nod.

Anthea nodded and continued, “The staff are preparing dinner for you and Gregory upon your arrival, I have collected some items from your brothers flat for Maeve and the car is waiting outside for you, when you decide that it’s time to leave. Karen stopped by and dropped the kids off.”

Mycroft considered her for a moment and gave a small nod of understanding. It had clearly been last minute and Gregory was unaware, otherwise he would have mentioned it. The kids would be no trouble and looked after until they returned.

“Did she have a reason?” He asked her.

“Something came up at work,” Anthea informed him with a tone that suggested she knew otherwise, Mycroft raised an eyebrow and she amended. “A date with the PE teacher.”

“Are they ok?”

“Occupied with homework but they have an insect day tomorrow; they’ve been fed and are now watching a movie until you return with Gregory.” She managed a small smile at that, “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

 

 

 

 

Mycroft stopped in the doorway of the private room and observed the scene before him; his parents were on one side of the bed, not too close as to crowd their youngest son but not too far away. John was perched on the edge of a chair on the opposite side of the bed, his hand atop of Sherlock’s and blue eyes staring up at Mycroft, both hard and soft. They spoke volumes; Mycroft read the fear and relief in his eyes; the worry that would never quite go away and the love for both his brother and Maeve.

The bed was slightly raised, enough that Sherlock did not have to crane his head to get a good look at his older brother looming in the doorway with his daughter. His eyes were dark and clouded over from the strain his injury had put on his body and the drugs in his IV but flicked over his brother attentively, her small body and the blanket over her lower half. Mycroft looked down and notices that her eyes were still drooping from sleep, and she was making minimal jagged movements.

“Please.” Sherlock said quickly, eyes pleading.

Mycroft could tell that he was afraid that his voice would crack if he continued talking.

He nodded and crossed the room in a few graceful steps. He stopped for a moment to scan over his little brother’s body and decided that the best course of action; he placed Maeve on his brother’s uninjured side. She was on her front with her head tucked neatly into his neck and her hands on his bare chest. Sherlock shifted so that his nose was in her hairline and inhaled deeply as she blinked herself awake. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.

“Thank you.” He murmured against her forehead.

Mycroft couldn’t suppress a reaction and his eyebrows raised in surprise but he said nothing. His brother was not known for his platitudes. He watched his brother and took a step back from the bed, resting at the end of the bed as Sherlock whispered to Maeve, “I’m sorry sweetheart.”

Maeve’s hand ran over his chest and she mouthed at the skin of his neck, a wet kiss.

 

 

 

Thirty minutes later, Mycroft watched as his younger brother fought a losing battle with sleep. His eyes were still clouded from the drugs he was attached to and eyelids sagging with exhaustion but he refused to let go of his daughter, his hold on her was firm.

 “You need to rest,” John broke the silence.

Sherlock opened his eyes wider and blinked roughly for a few moments, he struggled to focus on the blonde and resigned himself to failure after a couple of seconds. He returned his attention to the infant on his chest and ran his free hand down her back, wary of the needles in his hand.

“You’re taking her,” Sherlock said. A statement and not a question.

Mycroft nodded and glanced at John. The blonde nodded. It was unspoken that he would remain here with Sherlock to watch over him, and make sure that he was on his best behaviour.

“We will return in the morning,” the auburn haired man informed his younger brother.

Sherlock didn’t respond, instead he closed his eyes and repeated the action of running his hand over her back before placing it on the bed beside his body. Mycroft understood this as a signal and carefully pried the sleeping baby from his brother’s chest. She grunted in annoyance and her face scrunched up in displeasure, Sherlock cracked his eyes open to watch and sighed loudly.

 

 

 

The car journey home was silent. They’d dropped his parents off at their home first, leaving Sherlock in hospital overnight with John to watch over him, and now Greg was watching the world pass behind the tinted glass window. Anthea was sat in the front of the car beside the driver, tapping away on her phone with purpose and occasionally glancing at the two men and baby in the mirror.

Mycroft had his attention firmly on his niece, she was awake in her carseat and longing for sleep; but before that she needed to be fed and changed. It was prudent to keep her awake for the car journey which he was achieving by holding her hand and running a long finger over her tiny knuckles in slow movements that she watched with great effort; eyes still not able to focus completely at this age.

When the car pulled up, Greg smiled and climbed out of the car. Mycroft unstrapped his niece and handed her to Greg, slid across the seat and climbed elegantly out of the car. Greg gave the squirming baby back to his partner with a tired fond look and reached into the car for the carseat. Anthea had already climbed out of the car and grabbed the bags from the boot; the leather duffle and changing bag that Sherlock favoured. The driver, Gary, lifted out the pram and carried it into the house with Anthea two steps behind him.

They followed. Greg allowing Mycroft and Maeve to enter the large townhouse first and stepping in behind him, he closed the door and sighed heavily, exhausted.

“A moment of peace.” He announced.

Mycroft smiled and opened his mouth to speak, a bang interrupted him and he closed it again. Three heads appeared around the doorway and then bounded into the hallway with tired but happy eyes. The elder man cursed himself internally for forgetting to inform Greg that his children were waiting, and watched the surprise and confusion settle on his partner’s weary face.

“What are you doing here?” Greg asked.

Anthea glanced over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow in the direction of her boss but continued walking up the stairs. The driver smiled politely and ducked out of the house, leaving them alone in the hallway with the Lestrade children.

Mycroft resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, both hands otherwise occupied in cradling the baby and admitted, “Anthea had informed me earlier. Karen dropped them off earlier; she’s on her way to _work_ ” Greg raised an eyebrow in disbelief, “they’ve been fed and an insect day tomorrow.”

“I had the day off before all _this_ ” he gestured widely with his arms to indicate the night’s events, he turned his attention to his children, “what did you have for dinner?”

“Andrews made us spaghetti with meatballs.” Chloe beamed, it was her favourite meal.

“He left some for you in the oven,” Jordon informed them.

“Never mind that, why have you got a baby?” Alex Lestrade added. She was the middle child at fourteen, with her father’s deep brown eyes and dark hair pulled back into a loose knot at the back of her head. She wore a pair of ripped black jeans and an oversized Bowie shirt that she’d found at the back of her dad’s wardrobe when he was moving his stuff into Mycroft’s townhouse.

Jordon looked equally as curious but not so much as Chloe, her chocolate eyes were wide and openly staring at the small babe in Mycroft’s arms. The former, Jordon Lestrade, was fifteen and the oldest, the only boy child, his hair a spikey brown mess and eyes a deep chocolate brown. He was the image of his father and Chloe, the youngest at seven was the only one with wavy hair, accentuated by wearing her locks in braids at school all day.

Greg took a deep breath, “this is Mycroft’s niece, Sherlock’s daughter.”

“Where’s Sherlock?” Chloe asked, ecstatic at the chance of seeing the consulting detective again.

Greg looked to Mycroft who managed a wary smile and informed them, “My brother is spending the night in hospital.”

“Is he ok?” Jordon asked. A worried look crossed the children’s faces.

“Fine.” Greg answered.

Mycroft expanded, “mild concussion and stab wound.”

Chloe seemed to process it the quickest and stepped towards the taller man with impossibly wide eyes, “Can I hold her?”

“I need to feed her,” Mycroft managed a sad smile at that, “but you can help me, if you like?”

A proud smile appeared on Greg’s face and Chloe seemed to be accept that offer with an ecstatic nod of her head, she looked up at the taller man expectantly, “should we go to the kitchen?”

Mycroft nodded and allowed the youngest of the Lestrade siblings to lead him into the kitchen, following the small girl into the large kitchen. Greg and the others followed, and he placed the changing bag on the large kitchen island. Chloe immediately climbed into one of the tall chairs and placed both of her elbows on the marble worktop, chocolate eyes fixed onto Mycroft.

All the kids had warmed up to Mycroft immediately, after processing the divorce and that their father was now with a man, though they all knew he was bisexual. They enjoyed spending time at both of Mycroft’s homes, the townhouse and country estate, and with Mycroft himself. Chloe had taken a particular liking to him, she had a hero worship of the minor government official that warmed Greg’s heart. She followed him around like a lost puppy and loved more than anything just to be in his company, she could often be found in his study watching him work and Mycroft had accepted it in his stride.

“What can I do?” She asked as her siblings took the vacant seats beside her.

“You can hold her for me while I make the bottle,” Mycroft answered.

Chloe nodded but looked a little sceptical, “she’s very little.”

“Yes but you’re very strong,” Greg chipped in, he leant down on the counter beside her.

“What if I drop her?” Chloe asked.

Jordon snorted in amusement and Alex slapped his arm. Mycroft shook his head.

“You won’t drop her,” Greg said simply.

Mycroft added, “You wanted to hold her.”

Chloe shrugged and Alex sighed, “I’ll hold her first, then you’ll see how easy it is and you can hold her afterwards.”

Chloe seemed to accept that and nodded. Mycroft went about following the instructions and handed his niece to the middle child, watching intently as she cradled the small baby with great care. He went about making the bottle, occasionally glancing at them, he warmed the bottle and placed it on the counter. “You can hold her now.”

Greg helped his youngest daughter take the infant from her sister and hold her, brown eyes wide in apprehension and wonder.

 

 

 

Mycroft rocked Maeve until she was sound asleep against his shoulder, mouth open and small amounts of drool running onto his forest green silk pyjamas. Greg came out of the bathroom, in a pair of flannel bottoms and old top, he smiled at the sight of his partner and goddaughter.

“She asleep?”

Mycroft nodded and pulled her away from his body in a gentle but fluid movement so that she was resting in both of his hands and he could peer down at her small sleeping form. She squirmed slightly but settled down almost immediately with a content sigh.

“Do you have to work?” Greg asked.

Mycroft shook his head, “Anthea has it under control.”

“She in the study?”

“She’s on damage control,” the auburn haired man informed him as he placed the sleeping baby in the Moses basket and pulled the cover atop of her.

 

 

 

Mycroft was awoken from the beginning stages of sleep by a cry, his eyes shot open and he practically jumped out of bed. He swung his legs out of the bed and looked into the Moses basket, Maeve was awake and crying, distressed. He scooped her up and with a look over his shoulder at Greg, who was on the verge of waking, he left the room. He closed the door behind him and walked down the hallway, gently rocking Maeve.

“Shhh,” he hushed, “you’re ok.”

Maeve continued to cry as he walked down the stairs with no particular direction in mind. He stopped in the living room and bounced her in small soothing movements like he often saw his brother doing in moments when she was distressed. “Come on darling.”

“Sir,” a voice disrupted the quiet of the house.

Mycroft twisted on the spot. Anthea was stood in the large wooden doorway, wearing a pair of dark denim jeans and a white vest with a blue cardigan over the top. She crossed her arms over her torso pulling the cardigan tight around her body and watched her boss with dark eyes; an expression of concern on her face. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun and she had no makeup on, Mycroft had seen her in a similar state many times but the sight brought out a particular warmth of familiarity in him.

“You should go home,” he told her.

Maeve was still crying but starting the settle. Her cries were now more like sniffles which would likely make her sick. He continued to hush her quietly.

“It’s three.” Anthea said simply in her best ‘for a genius you are an idiot’ voice.

“Awww,” Mycroft frowned and glanced at the clock on the mantle, she was right, it was just past three o’clock. “Well, dear, you should get some rest.”

“Three hours,” her eyes twinkled, “easier to not sleep and not the first time I’ve worked all night.”

Mycroft opened his mouth but closed it again when Maeve began to hiccup, the crying had completely stopped now but she jerked with each hiccup and occasionally sniffled between.

“Would you like a drink?” Anthea asked.

“Chamomile tea,” he answered simply knowing that she would not accept no as an answer.

“Does she need a bottle?” 

Mycroft shook his head, “she does need changing though.”

Anthea wrinkled her nose, “I’ll let you do that.”

 

 

 

When they were sat in the kitchen with Maeve awake, too awake for three o’clock in the morning, a cup of chamomile tea and a black coffee on the counter, a comfortable silence settled. Maeve had finally stopped hiccupping and was freshly changed, she gazed up at her uncle with bright tired eyes.

“I don’t know how he does it,” Anthea remarked. She was watching the infant cradled in one of Mycroft’s long arm with complete fascination. She didn’t even look as she picked up her coffee and brought it to her lips, without spilling a drop.

“Yes, she does require a lot of attention.” Mycroft agreed.

“I’ve arranged for the car to come at nine,” Anthea informed him.

“My parents will need a car to take them to the hospital at ten.”

“Will Gregory be going to work?” She asked.

“He’ll want to go in early and meet me at the hospital later,” Mycroft answered as he picked up his cup and took a long sip of his tea.

Anthea nodded in understanding and plucked up her phone from the counter, she began tapping rapidly with only one eye on the phone. Mycroft put his cup down and gave his free hand to his niece, she grasped one long finger and pulled the hand towards her body. He spoke to her in a hushed tone, “Are you going to fall asleep at some point?”

Maeve looked up in answer and sneezed loudly.

“Bless you,” Anthea said on instinct.

“I’m going to take Maeve to the nursery.” He told her as he rose to his feet.

 

 

 

Mycroft watched the flutter of Maeve’s eyes as she finally fell asleep to the gentle rocking of chair; it was the exact one that he used to sit in with Sherlock when he was a baby. It was the only thing that would calm the younger Holmes during his distressed periods as a baby. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the same thing worked on his niece. After twenty minutes of rocking and going through the night’s events; and what he had to do tomorrow, he took her back into his shared bedroom with Gregory.

The detective inspector was sound asleep. He was on his front with one arm across the space that Mycroft usually occupied and a leg hanging off large bed. Mycroft rolled his eyes in amusement and settled himself in bed with Maeve in his arms; Greg shifted by didn’t wake and allowed his partner to move his arm and climb into bed. He closed his eyes and listened to the deep even breaths of his partner and the quieter, inexplicably cuter, snores of his niece.

 

 

 

Six o’clock in the morning found Mycroft hovering over his niece. She was on her back looking up at him with bright blue eyes wearing only a nappy. He already fed and burped her; she was content in doing nothing but gazing up at her uncle but obviously very tired; having spent most the night in the hospital and then being awake instead of sleeping.

The alarm on Greg’s beside table rang loudly and Maeve jerked in shock, blue eyes darting around the room before settling back on Mycroft in shock and familiarity. Mycroft smiled down at her, “shhh, it’s only Uncle Greg’s alarm.”

Greg groaned as he woke up. He reached blindly for the alarm, managing to turn it off and rolled over to face Mycroft and Maeve, he creaked his eyes open and then shut them again. With a long sigh he stretched out and opened them again, this time keeping them open.

“Mornin’…” he muttered.

“Good morning,” Mycroft articulated with a fond look at his partner.

Greg rolled one of the pillows under his head to get a better look at Maeve. Her blue eyes shot to him then back to Mycroft and she squirmed, kicking out her legs.

“You’re normally dressed by now,” Greg remarked.

“Yes.”

“Does that mean that I get first shower?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and dropped his head. Maeve took this as an opportunity and ran her hands in jagged movements over his face; paying particular attention to his cheeks and nose. After a moment she settled on the hairs beside his ears, running her fingers through the thinning strands and grasping; pulling him closer. Mycroft winced and Greg snorted out a laugh.

“You need to be at work to -” Mycroft started.

Greg interrupted, “sort this shit heap out.”

Mycroft raised a disapproving eyebrow at his partner and continued, “- manage the situation. I am taking Maeve to the hospital at nine with the kids, my parents will come at ten and we’ll remain there until you are finished.”

“It should only be a few hours,” Greg told him.

Mycroft nodded and allowed Maeve to guide his head closer. She placed a sloppy open mouth kiss on his nose and Mycroft grimaced but allowed her to continue.

 

 

 

Greg fiddled with the buttons on his shirt cuffs as he strolled into the kitchen, he paused at the sight of his lover wearing the forest green pyjamas, matching housecoat and slippers. He had Maeve balanced in one arm, cradled in the long limb while he sat in one of the chairs at the breakfast bar and a strong coffee. Maeve was dressed in a plain white baby grow with no arms or legs but covered with a pale yellow blanket. Andrews, placed two plates with omelettes beside one another and Mycroft thanked him.

“The kids will want pancakes.” Greg said.

“Chocolate chip,” Andrew smiled, “the batter is in the fridge.”

“You are a marvel.” Greg smiled and sat down. He took a sip of his own coffee and then started on his omelette.

Mycroft could smell their shared soap on him, the one that was according Gregory ‘far too bloody expensive’ but had a nice smell so he used it anyway, and newly applied cologne. The bitter coffee only added to his alluring scent.

“Are you sure that you’re fine looking after the kids?” Greg asked, breaking Mycroft away from his thoughts on his partner.

“The kids will be no trouble,” Mycroft told him truthfully, he had had very little trouble with Gregory’s kids.

“But you’ve already got Maeve.” He argued.

Mycroft gave a small smile at that, “yes, she may be difficult.”

He glanced down at his niece, she had dropped off and was now enjoying sleep in his long arm, undisturbed by their conversation.

“She could sleep anywhere,” Greg remarked.

“Much like her father,” The younger man agreed.

Greg snorted, “When he does sleep.”

“His difficulties with sleep didn’t begin until he was seven, he was fine before then.”

“I found him curled up in his armchair after a case,” Greg reminisced fondly.

 Mycroft smiled, “as a boy he often found hiding spots, under the desk in the study, in a closet, and once in a cupboard.”

Greg chuckled at that, “why?”

“Hide and seek, he would get bored and fall asleep, thus ending the game.”

“Dad?” A voice called timidly from the top of the stairs.

“Duty calls,” Greg announced as he stood up, shovelling a large forkful of omelette into his mouth before trotting towards the owner of the voice.

Mycroft watched him leave then went about eating his own omelette, it was made from egg whites and had an assortment of vegetables (that corresponded with his diet) and was utterly delicious.

Greg returned with a sleepy looking Chloe, she was often an early riser and though it hadn’t bothered Mycroft much, being an early riser himself, Greg particularly disliked the quality in his youngest daughter. He picked her up and placed her on the chair he had been occupying, he took the seat beside her, leaving the younger girl between the two men.

“Why she still sleepin’?” Chloe asked, rubbing her eyes.

Mycroft glanced down at Maeve and Greg took the initiative to answer, “She’s still very little and babies need lots of sleep to grow.”

“How old is she?” Chloe asked, glancing up at Andrews as he placed a strawberry milkshake on the table in front of her, it was her favourite and she immediately started drinking it, eyes still on Mycroft and the baby.

“Twenty-six days old,” Mycroft answered.

Chloe frowned and let the straw fall out of her mouth, “that’s very little.”

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed.

“Does she have a mummy?”

Greg glanced at Mycroft with a slightly apologetic look to which the younger man frowned, there was no reason to be sorry. Greg cleared his throat and tried to explain, “Do you remember what I told you?” Chloe looked a little confused but gave a slow nod, “Maeve’s mummy decided that she didn’t want a baby so she gave her to Sherlock to look after.”

“Because he’s her daddy.” Chloe asserted.

“Yes.” Mycroft nodded.

She looked confused, “but why didn’t her mummy want her? There’s nothing wrong with her.”

“Of course not,” Greg ran a hand over his daughter’s frizzy hair, “but sometimes people don’t want children, but there is nothing wrong with her.”

“Of course there isn’t” Chloe scrunched up her nose and considered the information for a moment, “is it like you and Mycrof’, because he doesn’t want any babies?”

Mycroft looked slightly taken back and Greg wanted to hit himself, the auburn haired man managed a smile and responded, keeping his tone soft. “It’s not that I don’t want them, I just don’t need them, I have you and your brother and sister, and now I have Maeve. That more than enough for me.”

“Is she a lot of work?” the child asked.

“My brother is a lot of work,” Mycroft corrected.

“He’s not stupid.”

“No.” Mycroft agreed.

“Because he saw her and kept her, I’d have kept her.”

Mycroft couldn’t contain his smile at that. Greg smirked and asked, “Why?”

Chloe gave her father a ‘don’t be silly’ look and explained as she fished her straw out of the pink milkshake, “because she’s pretty.”

 

 

 

Shortly afterwards, Jordon and Alex stumbled down looking exhausted and Andrews cooked the pancakes for them. Greg left for work; kissing all of the kids on their foreheads (despite their obvious annoyed reactions) and stopping directly in front of Mycroft, he kissed him thoroughly, earning him a muttered ‘get a room’ and then stroked Maeve’s hair, kissed the top of her head, grabbed his travel mug and left. Mycroft sat down with the Lestrade children and informed them of the plan for the day; going to the hospital and then for lunch, and shopping before he returned to the hospital. They all seemed a little too eager to come with him, though he had informed both Jordon and Alex that they did not have to, they wanted to apparently.

Anthea had come in midway through, wearing a pair of tight black trousers with gold zips on the hips with a white shirt tucked in, the first two buttons undone with a gold necklace underneath the collar and a thin beige coat over the top with the arms rolled to her elbows. She smiled and poured herself a coffee, payed attention to the kids and then agreed on the best plan of action.

Mycroft had a shower while she looked after Maeve, got himself dressed into a pair of smart dark jeans with a white shirt tucked in, he left the grey jumper on the bed and went about readying Maeve. After a particularly difficult bath, which consisted of most of the room being splashed and her weeing in the bath, he dried and laid her down on the bed. He snapped a quick photograph on his phone of her lain out again the teal sheet, completely nude but her modesty covered her feet and knees bent. When he had dressed her in a white romper with a pink rose pattern.

 

 

 

Mycroft closed the front door and walked down the steps towards the car, the tree kids and Anthea were all hovering on the pavement. “Shall we?” he asked.


	4. Twenty-Six Days Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Maeve visit Sherlock in hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! The next update will be after I've updated Ideal Father.

Sherlock was awake when they reached the hospital and listening as John read out the paper; the headlines of which were about him and the events of the night. He had more colour in his cheeks than the previous day and his hair was flat from sleeping in the hospital bed and slightly greasy but not as noticeable to the average eye. He was wearing what seemed to be only some pyjama bottoms, leaving his chest completely uncovered with only a bandage over his stab wound; small dots of blood dotted the white rectangle, not enough to be worried about. It was the only colour to his brother at this particular moment, even his eyes were less bright than usual but no longer fogged over with the effect of the drugs; in fact he had turned his morphine pump so that it was practically off. And though he showed no discomfort, it was obvious that he was in some pain. John had dark circles beneath his eyes and looked too stiff in his chair from having slept in it all night.

Both sets of eyes settled on him the moment the door opened and the Lestrade children piled in.

“You’re late,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Traffic, brother mine.” Mycroft responded as he followed them in and placed the changing bag on the floor beside the two seats that the three children were occupying, Chloe on her older brother’s lap.

“Give me,” Sherlock demanded with the voice of the petulant child, he reached up with both arms and winced at the movement. John immediately moved forward in his seat, forgetting about the newspaper and Mycroft raised a concerned eyebrow. Sherlock noticed and rolled his eyes, refusing to drop his arms, “stop fussing.”

Chloe giggled and jumped from Jordon’s lap, she bounded over to the side of the bed and stood next to the consulting detectives head. She watched intently as Mycroft shifted Maeve to face her father and then lifted her into his waiting arms. Sherlock managed to suppress the pained sounds and instead only grimaced slightly as he brought her down towards his body and allowed her to sit high on his chest, supporting her with one large hand on her chest and the other on her back, high enough that two fingers were resting on her head.

Maeve’s blue eyes twinkled and she gurgled enthusiastically at the sight of her father.

Mycroft took a step back and stood at the end of the bed.

Chloe told Sherlock with a matter of fact tone, “She sleeps a lot.”

Sherlock refused to take his eyes from Maeve, “yes.”

“Mycroft let me hold her.”

“That was nice of him,” John responded with a warm smile.

“Would you like to get something to eat?” Mycroft asked. It hadn’t been long since breakfast but it would be better than sitting in a hospital room until their father arrived. “There’s a café across the street.”

“Sure,” Alex responded, standing up and hooking her bag over her shoulder.

Mycroft gave her some money and the unspoken ‘look after your sister’, and they left. When the door shut Sherlock sighed loudly in obvious relief. “Why did you bring them here?”

“Insect day,” Mycroft replied nonchalant.

“Besides you love Lestrade’s children,” John added.

“Like,” Sherlock corrected, “and I can barely put up with you right now.”

The last part was directed at the pair of them, they exchanged a look.

“But your daughter is fine?” John asked, not annoyed. He continued to surprise Mycroft.

“She doesn’t talk,” Sherlock grumbled.

“But she does cry,” the blonde responded.

Sherlock’s eyes flicked to Mycroft and back to Maeve, he changed the subject. “She woke up last night.”

“Quite distressed,” Mycroft sniffed.

“You managed to calm her,” if Mycroft hadn’t of known his brother so well, he would have thought Sherlock sounded proud. But he knew his brother, and there was no pride in his voice, merely mild astonishment.

“A few moments in the rocking chair,” was all that the auburn haired man gave in answer.

Sherlock gave a small nod and smiled at his daughter, a tired kind of smile that was obviously faked but worth faking in this case. She sneezed twice, nose scrunching up and drool hitting her father on the face.

“Bless you,” Mycroft said at the same time Sherlock, looking rather appalled at his daughter, said, “thank you.”

John snorted and grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and carefully wiped over his partner’s face while Maeve watched intently as though it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen.

“They’re ready to discharge him,” John informed Mycroft, “he’s insulted every nurse that has walked through the door and some of the doctors. The doctor will be here on his rounds soon.”

“Can you help me move her?” Sherlock asked, looking at John.

The blonde nodded and stood up, he lifted Maeve up. Sherlock shifted himself to allow room on his uninjured side and lowered the bed slightly so that he was at a soft incline; John walked around the other side of the bed to avoid leaning over his partner. He placed Maeve beside Sherlock, lain on her back with her head was resting just below his armpit, he had lifted his head up enough so that she could glance up at him with little difficulty.

 

 

 

Mycroft looked up as Chloe skipped into the room closely followed by her older brother and sister, Jordon was holding a disposable cup with coffee in and Alex with a hot chocolate. She was also carrying a bottle of water which was for Chloe, who had stopped in front of Mycroft and then waited for his approval before situating herself on his lap. When she was comfortable and only then did she speak her voice was almost a whisper, “Alex said we’re going shopping late.”

“Do you want to go shopping?” Mycroft asked. Chloe nodded.

There was a quiet knock on the door and it opened to reveal his parents with Anthea, she opened the door and stepped aside to let them in and then with a quick look at her boss closed the door again, leaving them all in piece. Chloe smiled widely at the older arrivals.

“Good morning; Chloe, Alex and Jordon.” Violet greeted with a friendly smile. She embraced each of the children with a small hug and kiss. She kissed Chloe’s forehead then turned her attention to her eldest son and kissed his cheek with a small smile.

Siger nodded in greeting at both Mycroft and then John, who returned the nod.

Sherlock did not open his eyes or even move to acknowledge their arrival. He was resting, something that all his doctors had insisted on and though he was unable to sleep he could enjoy the company of his dozing daughter. The room was rather crowded and he would rather not have to be pleasant to all of them at this time.

“We are aware that you are not asleep,” Mycroft drawled after a moment.

Sherlock creaked one eye open to glare at him, “I am aware you’re aware.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and shifted Chloe into a more comfortable position on his lap, she went willingly with a quick look over her shoulder at him.

Sherlock abandoned pretence and opened both his eyes. He immediately looked down at Maeve with a satisfied expression; she was slumbering serenely in the gap provided between his body and arm. Her eyes were fluttering behind her closed eyelids causing her long dark lashes to flutter against her cheeks; her mouth was parted and soft sounds escaped it with every breath she took. Once he was satisfied he glanced at the other occupants of the room with a small critical look; his mother and father; Mycroft and Chloe, Alex and Jordon, and of course John, forever reliable John.

“Really, a hospital is no place for children,” Violet commented after a moment.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and closed them again, as though it would solve the problem.

“It’s a passing visit,” Mycroft informed her.

“I like it here,” Chloe announced.

“Yes, well, that’s lovely darling” Violet stroked a hand over the younger girls hair, “but I was talking about Maeve.”

“She should be with her daddy,” Chloe shrugged.

Sherlock re-opened his eyes at that and smiled at the youngest of the Lestrade’s children.

“Can I sit with you?” She asked. It was no secret that Chloe practically worshipped the ground that the consulting detective walked on, it was the same with Mycroft, they treated children as though they were adults (but not idiots) and they respected that.

Sherlock nodded and she hopped off of Mycroft’s lap, with his help she clambered onto the end of the bed and sat with her legs under her body. When she was settled she craned her neck to get a better look at Maeve.

 

 

 

Mycroft rubbed small circles on Maeve’s back with his palm. She was resting on his lap with a muslin across her front and held up by his free hand that was strategically placed beneath her chin, supporting her head. She burped and he continued.

“You should go home John,” Siger told him with a small smile of concern and thanks.

“We’ll stay with him,” Violet added.

Sherlock frowned, obviously not happy with the idea. “That is not necessary.”

Siger continued to address John, “You’ve been here all night, and you should go home and rest.”

John still did not look convinced. Mycroft looked up from his niece for a moment, eyes fixed firmly on Johns, “You’ll be no good to my brother if you’ve worn yourself out.”

Mycroft refocused his attention on Maeve and rubbed her back a little harder. She burped again.

“You’re right,” John scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I’ll need my doctor in tip-top condition,” Sherlock told him.

John raised an eyebrow as he got to his feet and lent towards his partner, he placed a chaste kiss on his forehead and warned, pulling back. “Don’t push it.” He turned to Mycroft, “I’ll see you back at the flat.”

The government official gave a curt nod.

“You’re bringing him back, right?” John asked.

“We’ll bring him back the moment he is discharged,” Mycroft informed him.

Maeve burped and some milk dribbled down her chin. Mycroft took his hand off of her back and lifted the muslin to dab at the small trails of sick. John ran his hand over the soft hairs atop of her head and placed a soft kiss there when he removed his hand.

“See you later.”

 

 

 

Mycroft remained with Sherlock for the rest of the day. Lestrade has come and gone taking his kids with him, Chloe quite reluctantly until Mycroft promised that she could chose the takeaway for dinner, and his parents had left. Maeve was positioned on her front beside her father, the bed completely reclined and their noses practically touching. Mycroft was tapping away on his phone while Sherlock trailed a long finger over Maeve’s forehead, down her cheek and stopped at her mouth. They opened and traced the small pink lips with the pad of his finger, the bottom first and then, the top.

“Mr Holmes,” the doctor greeted, clearing his throat from the doorway. He looked up from the chart as he stepped into the room, eyes flicking over his patient in the bed with a baby lain out beside him and Mycroft sat in the chair, legs crossed elegantly and now looking up from his phone.

“You must be the brother,” the doctor guessed. Mycroft nodded and the young doctor continued, “And this must be…”

“Maeve,” Mycroft substituted.

Sherlock added, “My daughter.”

The doctor nodded and placed the chart on the small table, he crossed the room and stood on the side of the bed beside Maeve and gestured to her, “perhaps, can we move her?”

Mycroft pocketed his phone and climbed gracefully to his feet, he reached over his brother and lifted Maeve towards him – she squirmed and whined, bothered by the movement – he hushed her and pulled her close. Sherlock shifted back into the centre of the bed carefully and the doctor raised the bed into a seated position. He took his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to Sherlock’s heart.

“Still there?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock snorted and the doctor smiled, “yep, beating and everything. I going to check your wound now.”

Sherlock paid him little attention, he instead focused on Maeve – supported against his brothers chest, her small hands exploring the material of his suit – as the doctor peeled away his bandages to reveal the angry red stab wound, stitched up with small amounts of dried on the surface.

“Everything seem fine,” the doctor decided and placed a new bandage over the wound.

“He can go home?” Mycroft asked glancing over his niece’s head.

The doctor gave an unsure nod, “it’s unusual to discharge patients this early after such a traumatic wound but, we are happy to discharge you if you promise to rest, no strenuous activities. You’ll need to get checked over at a local surgery to make sure there is no infection and in a few weeks to get your stitches removed.”

“My partner is a doctor,” Sherlock told him.

“Then I’m sure you’ll be in safe hands.” The doctor decided with a smile. “I’ll have the nurses draw up your discharge forms and then you can be on your way.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft smiled – a small fake polite smile – at the doctor and watched his movements as he left the room, bowing his head slightly and closing the door behind him.

“I trust I’m not to return home in my underwear,” Sherlock commented.

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes, “you’ve left the house in worse states.”

Sherlock snorted and pushed himself up into a sitting position, in a slow movement that pained him, he swung his legs out of the bed in a measured movement.  Mycroft held Maeve with one arm, large hand across her back and picked up the bag beside his chair that he had ha Anthea collect for him. He placed it on the bed beside his brother. Sherlock considered it for a moment before opening the zip with one hand, and placing the other across the bandage on his torso, stopping himself from moving too much and straining his wound.

“Are you just going to stare?” Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft ignored him and retook his seat. He took Maeve’s small hand in his own and craned his neck to get a better view at the infant, she was awake, her eyes switching between his suit and the skin of his neck. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand in soft movements. She did not react but her eyelids fluttered slightly and she yawned.

 

 

 

“All set Mr Holmes,” the nurse said with a cheerful smile, “I just need you to sign here.”

“And him?” Sherlock titled his head towards Mycroft.

“He’ll need to sign too,” she informed him. “We’ll be signing you out into his care.”

Sherlock dropped the pen onto the counter and turned to his brother in a faster movement that he should have, and held his arms out slightly. “Give me,” Sherlock instructed, eye trained on his brother.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and handed Maeve to his wounded brother. Sherlock took her eagerly and brought her towards his chest in a precise movement, she stirred but didn’t wake.

“You could have asked for her,” Mycroft told him. He picked up the pen and signed in the small box.

“You wouldn’t have given her to me,” Sherlock pouted and placed his nose atop of her head, inhaling and allowing the hairs to tickle his nose.

“She’s adorable,” the nurse commented, pointing to the next box that Mycroft had to sign. “Your brother is right though, you should take it easy.”

“I need to go home,” he told her.

“That’s often the way with new parents,” the nurse nodded and continued to smile.

Sherlock eyed her attentively for a moment before nodding.

“Have a good day Mr Holmes,” she focused on Mycroft, “and good luck, Mr Holmes.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft returned and picked up both bags, he followed his brother from the hospital. The consulting detective walked slowly from the building, with great care and without his usual purpose and Mycroft walked a pace behind him. He stopped in the reception at the sight of Molly, the consulting detective managed a small smile and Mycroft a polite one. “Miss Hooper.”

“Mycroft,” she smiled, which fell slightly at the sight of Sherlock. “Sherlock.”

“Molly,” Sherlock greeted, out of breath and wincing slightly.

“I ran into John earlier,” she informed him, “he told me you were being discharged and I stopped by Baker Street, I made a lasagne.”

“That’s nice of you,” Mycroft smiled.

“I’ll let you go,” Molly told them, “I just wanted to check you were okay.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said and moved around the pair of them.

Sherlock smiled and followed.

 

 

 

“You need to be careful,” Mycroft told him.

Sherlock opened his eyes and studied his brother, “I hardly invited her into my home -”

“That is not what I am referring to,” Mycroft interrupted, Sherlock closed his mouth with a clank of his teeth and kept his eyes on his elder brother, imploring him to continue. “Rest.”

“Dull.” Sherlock commented.

Mycroft ignored him, “It is in your best interest to rest and recover for Maeve.”

“I know.”

“And try to be pleasant, John may have the patience of a saint when it comes to you, but you can still push him away,” Mycroft informed him.

“I hardly need relationship advice from you,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Something to bear in mind.”

 

 

 

The front door opened the moment he stepped out of the car and Mrs Hudson stepped out with a beaming smile and open arms. “Welcome home.”

Sherlock managed a lopsided smile and turned to take Maeve from Mycroft’s arms, she squirmed but quickly settled down when he placed her against his chest, and face nestled in the juncture where his shoulder and neck met. He climbed the step, allowing his brother to collect both of the bags, and stopped in front of her. She embraced him, her hold loose, wary of both his injury and the infant in his arms. She let him go almost as quickly as she hugged him and stepped aside to allow him access to the flat. He walked in and stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mr Holmes,” she greeted Mycroft as he stepped inside, “nice to see you again.”

“Lovely to see you too Mrs Hudson,” he greeted with a smile, “and Mycroft is fine.”

She smiled and closed the door behind him.

They walked up the stairs slowly – Sherlock first in slow practiced movements, followed by Mycroft and Mrs Hudson, they chatted politely as they walked – he paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, took a steadying breath and then stepped into the room. John immediately appeared from the kitchen, with a worried smile, and approached him.

“Are you ok?” His eyes flitted over the detective, searching him in doctor mode.

“Fine,” Sherlock dismissed without any of his usual coldness and bite.

“You should sit and I’ll get you some tea,” he fussed.

“Stop it,” the raven haired man told him. He placed a hand on the arm of the sofa and lowered himself down gradually, wincing slightly at the movement.

“I could get you a cold drink if that’s what you want,” John continued.

“Stop fussing.” Sherlock snapped with no real bite, pale eyes focused on the blonde.

“I’ll make some tea.” Mrs Hudson announced.

Mycroft took a seat in Sherlock’s chair.

“Ice tea,” Sherlock told her.

“Just this once.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want something to eat?” John asked. Sherlock glared at him. “Or, I could sit down.”

Sherlock nodded. The blonde sat beside him on the sofa and the taller man lent towards him purposely, John got the hint and placed his arm around him. Sherlock practically melted into the smaller man, turning his body so that his back was pressed into John’s side and he was leaning on him in a reclined position, Maeve still sleeping on his chest. John shifted slightly so that he was turned towards Sherlock and allowed his partner to use him as a pillow.

“You tired?” John asked.

Sherlock made a sound at the back of his throat in response.

 

 

 

“You leaving?” John asked.

“He’s in capable hands,” Mycroft answered.

“Thank you for bringing him home.”


End file.
